


You Know My Name

by Graceful_Storyteller



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alcohol, Beatles References, Flight of the Concord references, Humor, Loki is in a bad place, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nudity, Tony just wants to relive his college years, sexy fun times ensue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 04:07:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graceful_Storyteller/pseuds/Graceful_Storyteller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“So the barkeep tells me you’re the hottest piece of ass in the joint.”</i>
</p>
<p>A chance meeting in a bar called Slaggers and a reunion in Tony Stark's beach house: this is the tale of how Loki acquires a new distraction and Tony ends up in his business socks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Know My Name

Ever since his defeat in New York at the hands of the Avengers, Loki has been in hiding. He has retreated to the shadows where he belongs, and where Thor and his mortal allies cannot find him. He has crawled out of his dark hole only to steal food and to mingle among the vermin when he is in need of a distraction from the voices in his head. ‘Mingle’ to Loki means situate himself in a crowd unlikely to notice or disturb him, and for the most part he has been successful in finding establishments that cater for his need. Tonight, however, he makes the mistake of getting caught in the rain and seeking refuge in a bar called ‘Slaggers’. It is an establishment far more festive than Loki cares for, but he has no desire to once again face the wrath of the storm he has only just escaped. That is why he settles himself in a quiet corner of the bar, and attempts to ignore how rowdy his fellow patrons are as he nurses his beer and mourns the fact that it does not compare to the liquor of Asgard.

 

For a long time the revellers respect his unspoken plea for solitude. Then, when he has finally risen out of his most recent bout of depression and self-hatred, none other than Tony Stark himself staggers to Loki’s table and shouts over the music, “So the barkeep tells me you’re the hottest piece of ass in the joint.” With something that tastes like fear crawling into the pit of his stomach, Loki calls a dagger to his hand before slowly turning to fully face the man standing unsteadily above him. Stark blinks in confusion, clearly taking a moment to place him. When at last the dots connect he says, “Huh. Well this is unexpected.” His eyes then travel over Loki’s still damp Midgardian clothes and adds, “Guy wasn’t wrong though.” 

 

Loki watches him carefully, waiting for any indication that the crafty mortal is about to throw the noose around Loki’s neck and pull. When all Stark does is collapse into the chair opposite and continue to undress him with his eyes, Loki growls, “What trickery is this?”

 

“I could ask you the same thing,” Stark slurs as he shifts his weight to his elbows on the table between them. “How come you’re here, all sexy and in need of a good fucking, on the one night that I decide to relive my college years and visit a gay bar?”

 

“Believe me Stark, I would not be here if it were not for the rain,” Loki sneers.

 

“Aw baby; you not that way inclined? You’re not even a little bi-curious?”

 

“No,” Loki lies.

 

“Shame – I would have bent you over and given you the best fuck of your life.”

 

“You impudent little-”

 

“But first I would have pulled you over my knee and given that sweet ass a good thrashing for the temper tantrum you pulled in New York. I don’t care if Point Break keeps all of daddy’s hugs for himself; you don’t pull that sort of shit on my planet.”

 

“I am a god! How dare you speak to me so?!” Loki hisses, the dagger in his hand begging to be used.

 

Stark just smirks. “I’m Tony Stark, I always dare. I’d have thought you’d have learnt that by now.” Loki practically vibrates with rage as Stark manoeuvres himself onto his unsteady feet. “Anyway, as stimulating as this conversation was, I’m drunk and horny and if you’re not biting there are plenty more fish in the sea. See you later Reindeer Games!”

 

Loki immediately jumps to his feet to block Stark’s path. “Where do you think you’re going?”

 

“To get laid. _You_ might have wandered into a gay bar by accident, but those gorgeous guys grinding against each other certainly didn’t.” Stark snickers and adds, “Don’t you love alliteration, dark, dramatic, _dear_ ly in need of therapy?”

 

As Stark cackles and places his hand on Loki’s shoulder to stop himself from toppling to the floor, the god stares hard at the mortal and comes to the conclusion that if this is a trick to get him to lower his guard it is a good one indeed. If it was anyone else Loki would already have dismissed their meeting as mere coincidence. However, previous experience has taught him that Stark is crafty, in his own way, and that it is unforgivable to be complacent around him. That is why the god grabs the mortal by the scruff of his neck and presses the tip of his dagger into his abdomen. Stark stops laughing immediately.

 

“Are your companions watching us now? Are they listening to our conversation? Are you the bait intended to lead me back into my cage? Think about your answer, Stark, and whether it is wise to lie to the god of lies when I am poised and eager to dissect your liver,” Loki murmurs softly against the mortal man’s ear.

 

Slowly, Stark raises his head to meet Loki’s gaze. There is a new seriousness about him, although his eyes are still vaguely unfocused, and a smile still curls the edge of his lips. “Which answer stops me getting skewered?”

 

“I have yet to decide.”

 

Stark snorts and places the hand not supporting himself on Loki’s wrist. “I’m not here to fight you. I’ve had a really shitty week – which is mostly your fault, by the way – and all I want is a little time for some self-indulgence. So put away the pointy things because the Men in Black aren’t here and I have no intention of calling those cockblockers. If you want to sit at your table and mope then that’s fine by me. I have my own prerogative and it doesn’t involve getting blood all over my brand new shirt.”

 

Loki allows Stark to manoeuvre his wrist and the dagger he holds away from the mortal’s abdomen. The weariness in Stark’s features makes him believe that the man is telling the truth, and also incurs a surprising spark of sympathy from Loki.

 

Loki knows that if he is wise he will deal Stark a fatal blow now. True, such an act would alert Thor to his whereabouts, but it would also put an end to one of those who had ruined his grand schemes and brought the wrath of Thanos down upon him. Surely this little revenge would lift Loki’s spirits, would stoke the fire of inspiration and help him to devise a new way to make Thor regret abandoning him to that nightmare place at the other end of the universe? Surely he should take the opportunity fate has presented him with and ruin not just Tony Stark’s day but his very existence?

 

The problem is that Loki is also not in the mood to fight. With a dramatic sigh he vanishes his dagger and releases his hold on Stark’s neck. Instead of retreating as Loki expects, the mad mortal grins and steps forward until their bodies are pressed together. He then moves onto his toes and whispers against Loki’s jaw, “If you change your mind about the sex look up my number; I’ve always wanted to bring a little divinity to my bed,” before kissing him.

 

The kiss is brief but highly distracting. It ends when Stark stumbles away to where the rest of the bar’s patrons are participating in what passes as dancing on Midgard. Loki watches, enthralled, as Stark is easily accepted into the sweating mass of bodies and begins to fumble with an eager stranger. Only when the sight of Stark’s face twisted in ecstasy causes his member to harden does Loki take his leave of the bar and utter the firm promise never to return.

***

It has been over a week since that night and Loki is still waiting for the fallout of his decision to let Stark live. He has been expecting Thor to appear at any moment, to kick in his door with a cry that Stark’s information on his whereabouts was correct. Yet there has been no Thor, no storm since the one which forced him into that fateful bar. It is almost as if Stark has kept his location secret. Loki does not know how to interpret this (is it a gift or is it a trap?) but he is certain it is not an accident. Curiosity has always been one of his greatest weaknesses and he is unable to resist wondering why Stark has remained silent. That is why he now stands outside Stark’s house waiting for the opportune moment to make his dramatic entrance. He intends to find out what game Stark is playing and, if he does not like the answer, to gift him with the kiss of death. Loki ignores the more traitorous parts of his anatomy which assure him a very different type of kiss from Stark would be much more rewarding. This is neither the time nor the place for such distractions, especially if that night at the bar was some sort of ruse meant to lead him into an intricate trap. He needs to think rationally and not let the fact that it has been far too long since he laid with another cloud his judgement.

 

With that Loki teleports into Stark’s home and immediately sets off an alarm. Loki curses and snarls, “Why does nothing ever go according to plan around this mortal?” before attempting to kill the high-pitched wail. His temper is further stoked when he is unable to locate a control panel, sensor, or speaker. 

 

Just as Loki is about to give up on his late-night folly, the alarm quietens of its own volition and a voice from nowhere says, “Mr Stark will be with you momentarily and asks that you take a seat.”

 

Loki remains standing, furious with himself for not anticipating the alarm, but also enraged that Stark has once again thrown him off-balance. He had wanted to be the one with the power during this encounter, to set the rules of the game, but as always Stark and his infernal machines have stolen Loki’s advantage. With that thought in mind Loki storms out of the room he had materialised in and begins his search for Stark.

 

“Sir, I would recommend against disturbing Mr Stark right now. I am sure he will be finished with his other business momentarily.”

 

The subtle unease and urgency in the disembodied voice causes Loki to bear his teeth in a grin and quicken his pace. Interrupting Stark’s ‘other business’ should be enough to reset the balance of power in Loki’s favour.

 

Moments later Loki throws open the door to Stark’s bedroom and immediately becomes still. Stark is lying on his bed, naked but for a pair of socks and his mechanical bracelets, with one hand clasped tightly around his straining erection. The mortal pins Loki with an exasperated glare and says, “Don’t you know how to knock? _Rude_.”

 

For a long moment Loki is unable to tear his gaze away from the visual feast that is Tony Stark spread bare. “Forgive me; I did not know that ‘business’ had become synonymous with this in your language.”

 

Stark smirks. “It’s also synonymous with sex. And, FYI, these are my business socks.”

 

Fighting the urge to squirm as his leather pants tighten, Loki enquires, “Which incarnation of business are you referring to when you say that?”

 

“Depends,” Stark replies, his gaze measuring – clearly assessing whether or not Loki has come in peace. “Are you going to join me or not?”

 

Loki considers the offer. He considers leaping forward and thrusting his dagger into Stark’s eye and watching him scream until blood loss puts an end to his suffering. Then he considers how good it would feel to pierce the mortal with a weapon which is part of his anatomy and will cause Stark to scream for an entirely different reason.

 

Forcing down the unwanted swell of desire that image conjures, Loki asks, “Why have the agents of SHIELD and your precious little team not yet swarmed this city in search of me?”

 

“Because the world doesn’t revolve around you princess,” Stark teases, still bafflingly confident for a man in his vulnerable position. “Also, I’m reckless and kinda unhappy with those guys at the moment.”

 

“Those are both very vague reasons,” Loki points out suspiciously.

 

“I can get a lot more technical if you like, Emily the Strange, but I don’t think you’d appreciate my insightful comments on your mental state. I know I certainly don’t want to talk right now about all the reasons you need some Prozac in your life. Just trust me when I say my motives are purely self-centred, ok?”

 

Loki is certain there is an insult hidden within Stark’s words, but the reminder of the situation they are currently in prevents him from further pursuing that train of thought. Stark is naked and willing and so very distracting that Loki fears that even if he wanted to kill him at this particular moment in time (which he doesn’t, surprisingly enough) he would likely botch the attempt. Having no desire to embarrass himself in front of the mad mortal again tonight, Loki decides it is time to heed the suggestion of his nether regions to capitalise on what is a golden opportunity.

 

“Very well; I will put my faith in your ability to be entirely egocentric and disregard my paranoia for the night.”

 

Stark raises a curious eyebrow. Loki decides to clarify his statement by removing his clothes in a flash of magic. Stark’s expression immediately transforms into one of glee as the god crawls across the bed to settle between Stark’s spread legs. “Be honest, it’s the socks that did it for you isn’t it?” Stark says with a playfully lecherous grin. “That’s why they’re called business socks.”

 

“I am in need of a distraction,” is the only answer Loki gives as he pins Stark’s wrists against the mattress.

 

“I get that,” Stark says with a twisted smile that makes Loki believe the truth of his words. “Just know that if that distraction gets anywhere resembling murderous JARVIS will blast your ass back to whichever messed up planet you came from.”

 

“Is that the extent of your terms for this encounter?”

 

“No, but it’ll do until after I’ve blown you.” Loki frowns and Stark rolls his eyes. “Sucked your dick? Oral sex?”

 

“Ah,” Loki murmurs and swaps their positions.

 

Grinning, Stark presses a grateful kiss to Loki’s lips before trailing a litany down his body. “Prior warning: I’m a little rusty at this. I’m a quick study, though, so don’t worry too much.”

 

“At least your mouth will be occupied whilst you recall your technique,” Loki replies drolly.

 

Stark chuckles and playfully nips at his hip. “You wouldn’t believe how many of my past partners have said exactly the same thing.”

 

Loki laughs for the first time in weeks and shuts his eyes as Stark demonstrates that his technique is not as rusty as he might believe. 


End file.
